Saturday, July 19, 2014


Perhaps late in a day swept away by the memory of summer meadows in bloom, a leaf as large as two hands held together gently taps my name against the pink and orange glass of the kitchen window.

Maybe as I breathe in the sweet scent of buttered plum and ripe peach backyard lit by golden slivers of fading sun neatly penciled across the table, living itself becomes a fragile surface to be touched and be touched by: each perception a skin. And though my mind cannot easily carry away all the hours my life has to give, I still act as though I expect it all to come back tomorrow.

1 comment:

  1. Elizabeth,
    I love how you work with the two works Perhaps & Maybe. Eternity is particularly evocative. Beautiful writing -- it makes me gasp at the images you create. Thank you!